Trapped
by Fledgling
Summary: [AU]My name used to be Kagura. Not anymore. Still it was something new to find out that your past life was just as if more awful than your current one. [Warning: 3 chp story with no plot. Lots of swearing.]
1. Escape

Word count: 1, 370

_Escape_

I was going to suffocate.

The atmosphere of the place felt like it was going to collapse and smother me with its poisonous fumes. Placing a hot, sweaty hand on the wood above me, I pushed as hard as I could, feeling it creak underneath-- or more correctly, above-- my fingertips.

But it wasn't enough. The dank, moldy smell of the place was driving me mad, and I turned my head tentatively, feeling a hot pounding in my skull as I did so. My black hair, slippery with sweat, stuck to the floorboards below me, and out of the corner of my eyes, I could see the strands plastered to my cheek, dark and blurry in the nearly nonexistent light.

I couldn't stay here forever; I knew that. But it wasn't like I wanted to. A hard knot of mounting restlessness had grown deep in my chest, and in a fit of frustration, I whipped my head upwards, feeling the pain blistering through my skin even as I crashed down again, the impact rattling my brains.

"Shit," I said, tears involuntarily springing to my eyes. I wiped my left hand on my jeans, still moving at a painfully slow pace, and rubbed my fingers gingerly over the bruise that was forming. The wild, violent anger hadn't left after my outburst; in fact, it was still here, and it seemed fiercer than ever. Resisting the urge to unhinge my jaw and scream, I edged onto my side, wincing as my hip slammed into another wooden beam. The tears never left my eyes, thanks to excellent practice and an iron will, but little good that did me. Bitterly grinding my teeth, I nudged my body slowly towards the slightly roomier side of the cupboard

"How the fuck did that bastard even find a place like this?" I muttered angrily, spitting out a cobweb as it landed in my mouth. Knowing him, he had probably searched all the houses for things like this before buying, or even worse, had this torture "closet" custom-made. It was too coincidental that the door for this could be locked from outside, and it was just large enough to fit a grown person, lying down. Feeling a wave of hatred at his sick, messed-up mind, I continued to crawl forwards, blinking as a flurry of dust fell my way. Propped onto my elbow, I craned my neck to see the tiny sliver of light falling through the cellar-like door, and jerked back in surprise to see the briefest shadow of someone nearby. There was a flash of white hair, and I knew it was my foster-sister. Overcome by shock, it was a moment too late when I finally slammed my calloused hands on the tiny door, screaming at the top of my voice to be let out.

But someone did come. That someone, however, was not my sister.

I stared stupidly up at the sudden overflow of light, trying to let my eyes adjust, when a hand roughly clutched my collar and wrenched me upwards. The simmering anger, finally given a chance to express itself, caused me to spit right into my guardian's face while punching him in the stomach at the same time. He seemed just as surprised as I was, but instead of gaping like an angry idiot, like I did, retaliated with a slap of his own. My head whipped to the side, and I heard my neck crack, pain shooting down my spine.

"Little rebellious bitch," he hissed in my ear, and I felt something wet, probably saliva, land just underneath my earlobe. He started muttering under his breath, and, judging by the angry connotation in his words, that it was about Kagura again. His disgustingly pale face was tight and dark with malice, and I found myself wondering, not for the first time, who Kagura was. He always seemed to be talking about that girl, or woman she very well might have been, and I didn't know why. A moment later, I realized I didn't care. I was too tired of him whining about that little bitch all the time. It was his favorite excuse to use whenever he lost his temper at me, and I had enough of it. Whatever she had done, she wasn't me, and he didn't have to be such an ass about it. Furiously I shrank from his disgusting smell, and too angry to think, I echoed his last words, shooting them into his face like daggers.

"So what if I'm 'just like Kagura'? Who the fuck is she, anyways?" Pushing his large, long hands off my collar, I stepped backwards, my body's adrenaline rising as I looked disdainfully at the floor. "That whore obviously made you very mad in one lifetime, and if I'm like her, then _shit for you_."

I was panting, though I hadn't realized it, and suddenly, I became conscious of the fact that he hadn't attacked me at the rude outburst, something he normally wouldn't have hesitated at, but instead, stood here, getting paler and paler before an unexpected and unhealthy flush rose to his cheeks. Out of the blue, he took several steps forward, curling one hand around my neck.

"You are Kagura, aren't you?"

Utterly confused, not to mention upset, I started to twist my way out when his grip tightened considerably, cutting off my air supply. Chocking, I was forced to turn back to the monster of a man, and his narrowed black eyes bore into me like a loaded gun.

"Tell me," he said, voice icy.

I was about to protest that I didn't know what he was talking about when his fingers flexed again, staring at me so intensely the words got lost in my throat. Averting my gaze, I tried half-heartedly to squirm away, feeling the heat build up between his fingers and my neck. His face neared threateningly, and suddenly, it all came back, piercing my brain into smaller and smaller pieces.

Memories, no, dreams, no! realities came rushing back in an instant-- about a dog-eared hanyou and a future miko and a monk and a kitsune and a taijiya and... oh! It hurt like hell. Brushing myself away from Naraku-- Naraku! Who was that?-- with a strength I hadn't known existed I shook my head frantically, trying to erase all the images pooling into my mind. A wind, fresher, wilder, fiercer than the one I knew existed in this world barraged me from all sides as I soared on a great feather. Tall, dark trees left cool shadows in the depth of the forest, my feet hardly making a sound as they traipsed over tangled roots. Stars-- the pure, absolute brilliance of an unpolluted night sky sang to me as I lay on a grassy hill, that horribly familiar feeling of being trapped burning my chest from within. White fur... a great lord... a white haired girl clutching a mirror... the white turned to crimson, and I saw blood, warm and poisonous, dripping around me in lakes and rivers and oceans as I died... DIED? Holy fuck, I had died?

Looking up at Naraku crazedly (what! Naraku again!) I saw, in slow motion, his mouth open and repeat his first question. _"You are Kagura, are you not?"_ and it was all I could do to shake my head and appear composed even though I was being shattered to pieces on the inside. A stray breeze blew in from some, unknown place, chilling my skin, when I, the real me, heard the physical, dead, Kagura me say coldly and defiantly,

"No. I am the wind."

But my guardian's response was nothing like I'd expected. Smirking, he took a step backwards, speaking in that awful lilting voice of his, pale fingers reaching out to stroke my cheek. I winced, then heard, as if from very far away, him say,

"Don't worry. It took me a long time to remember too," before he turned and strode out of sight. It was all I could do to not rip out his hair and shove it into his mouth. Instead, I tensed...

And ran, pushing past the front door and sprinting as far as I could into the big, wide world.


	2. Wander

Word count: 2, 791

_Wander  
_

Nothing.

I tried talking to myself, I tried pinching myself, I even tried staring at something until I became sadistically bored, but still there was nothing.

One big, gaping nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing.

I tried to think back to what my guardian had said. I tried to think of what to do, where to go, how to do it-- but my mind was still horribly blank. Tired feet stumbling on the pavement, I ran a hand gingerly through my sweaty black strands, cursing the hot sun as it beat relentlessly on my body. Looking with dead eyes at the bright, freshly painted houses on either side of me, I choked down the saliva in my throat, trying, without much success, to block out the growing pit of dread in my stomach. His stupid, disgusting face kept popping up in my head, the final smirk branded into my brain like a holocaust tattoo. Try as I might, that face refused to go away, leaving me with no choice but to trod on, hoping that maybe the more tired I got, the less it would ache.

A sudden onslaught of clouds covered the sun, providing my burned-out body with the brief bliss of cool air. Watching the trees sway softly in an invisible wind, my face unwillingly crumpled up, and before I could do anything about it, a whimper escaped my lips.

"Why me?" I whispered softly. "Why did _I_, of all people, have to go through this? Why do I _always_ have to suffer?"

Over the past hour or so of my wandering, the "memories", so they seemed, of my past life had been restored to me in perfect, gross detail, revealing almost too much of the past. At first, terribly fascinated by what seemed to be a completely different reality, I had concentrated long and hard, hoping that the dreamy realities would be restored faster that way. Contrary to what I thought, my deliberate attention only slowed down the process, and soon after all of the "dreams" had come back, I wish I never knew them at all.

The thing that shocked me the most was the fact that I even remembered, and recalled them as my _own_ memories. I was not completely ignorant of the reincarnation theory, but all the cases I'd read of people "remembering" had only done so in sleep, and the events came in vague snippets only. But me? No, here I was, remembering in broad daylight, feeling those ancient emotions tearing my heart as if they were formed merely minutes ago. Somehow, I didn't think it was normal.

Seeing a lonely 7-11 nearby, I headed over, briefly clenching my hand when the sun came out again. Wrenching the door open, I jerked backwards in surprise as a tall, black-haired boy pushed his way out, clutching a skateboard, chips, and coke while swearing under his breath. Shooting him a strange look, I made to walk into the store when I suddenly heard him mutter, "Kagura."

I whirled around, looking crazed. Grabbing his shoulders violently, I thrust my face into his, black eyes meeting his amber ones demandingly. Resisting the urge to scream, I growled,

"Did you just say Kagura?"

When he didn't answer, I tightened my hand impatiently, feeling no regret as my nails dug into his skin. "Answer me!" I tried again, knowing I was acting crazy, but powerless to stop it. His confused expression immediately transformed into anger, and he snapped his head backwards, dark brows gathered into a menacing frown.

"What the _fuck_?" he shouted, pushing himself away. Staring at me with eyes bright with fury, he took a step forward, free hand gathered into a fist. "Fuck off, bitch! What the hell is wrong with you!" Quite abruptly my anxiety disappeared to be replaced by terror, and as he neared, I winced, watching that dangerous hand like it was the end of the world. Seeing my expression, he quite suddenly backed away, turning around.

"Shit." The boy ran a hand agitatedly through his hair. He half-swivelled, as if to look at me, then froze, and, with only the briefest of hesitations, dropped his skateboard, its heavy _bang_ ringing in the hot, summer air. Stepping onto it, he tensed, as if noticing my eyes upon him, then skimmed quickly across the street, the rattling of those wheels echoing long after he disappeared into a park trail.

I stared after him for quite a long time, feeling stupid and angry and irritated and _stupid_. I knew that a flush had risen to my cheeks, and I placed a hand on my burning face, slamming my eyes shut with unconcealed anger. I continued to stand there, busy forcing the liquid that had risen to my eyelids back where it came from, when I heard the squeaking of a hinge, and another person walked out of the 7-11 behind me.

Blinking in surprise, I caught at the open door, entering inside. I had almost forgotten why I was there. Relishing the feel of the chilled air conditioning, I dug a hand into my jeans, hoping, by god, that I had some money. I stuck a hand into my right pocket.

"Damn."

I tried my left pocket.

"Damn."

I tried my back pocket, both the left and the right, as well as the inside of my belt. My fingers ran smoothly across the leather. There was nothing. Nothing, damn it!

"Shit."

I had not been in there for long when I saw the sleepy looking East Indian man starting to become more awake, and hurriedly, dipping my head, I wandered into the candy section. Seeing the sour gummies sprinkled with sugar and glinting at me innocently from their clear plastic boxes, I silently popped open a lid, pulling out a sticky handful and stuffing it, with some difficulty, into my pocket. A feeling of disgust filled me as I watched myself stuff the sweets into my jeans, feeling rather like a obese girl who couldn't control her cravings. I had half a mind to put it all back and clean my sugary pants as well as I could when my stomach gave a sudden and abrupt growl of hunger, inadvertently forcing my thoughts back to my non-existent breakfast this morning. Gritting my teeth at how pathetic and desperate I'd become, I straightened, dusting all the sugar off my thighs. Appearing nonchalant, I wandered out near the front, took a long look at a Brisk inside the mini fridge, then, sighing, pushed open the door of the store, feeling the horrible heat wash over me in waves. Still treading lightly like a _burglar_, which I suppose I'd become, I waited until I was out of sight, then, heart pumping with adrenaline, burst into a run.

---

I felt awful. Thinking back, I realized that it would have been much wiser had I simply grabbed a drink and some chips or something and fled as fast as I could, instead of wasting my time with the candy. It didn't taste very good, and my fingers were now horribly icky-- not to mention my pants. Sighing softly, I leaned against the cool wood of the tree behind me, feeling its scaly bark tangle in my hair. The shade was nice-- but it wasn't enough. It was still too hot. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched a mother soothe her 7 year-old daughter's scrape, cooing softly and patting the girl's head lovingly. A semblance of hatred swarmed up within me at the woman and the little girl, and I narrowed my eyes, fingers digging into the grass.

"Stupid little suck-up," I muttered under my breath. No one ever comforted me when I was that age, and I survived, perfectly fine. Why did she even _cry_? When I was seven, I didn't cry at such trivial things as scrapes. I didn't cry at all. Or, at least, I told myself I didn't. Whatever the case, I couldn't stand weaklings like her; children like that were so spoiled.

Turning away from the playground before me, I skimmed my eyes over the rest of the park, a glare, though I hadn't realized, still hovering unpleasantly over my face. An elderly man walking his large, black, and also very old dog moved slowly across the path before me, and I watched them with bored eyes, trying to ignore the growing weariness of my eyelids. Despite my efforts, my eyes closed of their own accord, and the last thing I saw was a strangely familiar black-haired boy, his head bobbing up and down as he jumped on a scuffed-up skateboard.

---

On top of the most terrible meal I'd ever had, I just endured the worst nap I had ever taken.

I sat up with a groan, massaging my aching neck. Red marks were indented into my skin, and I rubbed at them grumpily, cursing under my breath. "Stupid girl," I muttered to myself, proceeding to run my fingers through my greasy, tangled hair. "What'd you have to go and fall asleep for?" Feeling incredibly irritable, I got up slowly, my stiff muscles almost buckling under my weight.

I was such an idiot. Such a total idiot. But then again, I knew that already. Positively fuming now, (for a reason unknown even to myself) I slumped back down to the ground, landing painfully against the hard dirt.

My hair was knotted as hell. Pulling my nails fiercely into the tangles, I wrenched as hard as I could, feeling several strands come out from impact. A small, insane smile of pleasure appeared on my face, and, suddenly feeling very sick, I started to cough violently, turning my head to the squashed grass beside me. My throat felt raw from the long, racking coughs, and I wiped the saliva that slipped out with a grimy hand, wanting, for the first time since I'd left, to go back home.

It was then that someone approached. Looking up quickly, blinking so as to keep back the tears, I saw the black-haired boy come near, a frown resting on his face. He seemed startlingly familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on where it was I'd seen him. I was staring, though I hadn't realized it, and it was only when he crossed the path right in front of me, shifting nervously under my intent look, that I realized what I was doing and quickly diverted my gaze. Watching his form out of the corner of my eye, I expected him to keep on going, but I was shocked when he suddenly stopped, reluctant though the action seemed. Against my better judgement, my head snapped up of its own accord.

Shocking golden-brown eyes met mine. A jolt of recognition filled me, and my eyes narrowed as I suddenly realized it was the boy from 7-11. Already curving into a defensive stance on the ground, I was mildly puzzled at seeing his lips part, like he had been planning to say something. Relaxing a bit, I leaned slightly forward, my curiosity getting the better of me. His frown deepened at my strange actions, and he hesitated, but with a wild, reckless determination, began to speak in a haughty tone.

"Do you want money or something?" he said gruffly, not looking at me. He had stuck his hand into his pocket, and pulled out a wrinkled five-dollar bill, holding it out carelessly. I stared at it for a moment, utterly baffled as to what he wanted me to do when it suddenly hit me. He thought I was homeless. I started yelling before I realized I was doing it.

"I DON'T FUCKING WANT PITY!" I screeched, jumping up and wrenching the bill out of his hand and onto the ground. "WHO DO YOU THINK YOU _ARE_? I DON'T NEED YOUR DAMN CHARITY!" Possessed with fury, I staggered forwards almost drunkenly, glaring at him so fiercely he stepped backward with a frightened choke of surprise, almost tripping over his own feet as he did so. My arm was raised, ready to strike, when I suddenly became aware of all the eyes upon me. Eyes everywhere; from the left, from the right, even-- I imagined-- from above.

I shuddered, and abruptly I was exhausted. My limbs felt loose and soggy, like a rag lying limp and forgotten in a sink. Stepping away from the boy, I tried to run, shaking, but found I couldn't. My stomach growled loudly. Stumbling as well as I could into the shadow of the trees, I continued on until I was out of sight, finally crumpling down behind a library and bursting into tears.

Funny thing is, I didn't know what had gotten into me. I was one of those girls that everyone admired, the girl that everyone said was strong, was smart, was the one that everyone could always depend on. No one ever knew of my problems at home; I never told anyone, and I didn't plan to. I was one of those people that was _always_ in control, always had perfect rein over her emotions. There was never any need to comfort me, because I didn't need to be comforted. No one ever needed to give me guidance, because I made my own decisions. Least of all, no one told me what to do.

Yet here I was, hoping that someone, _anyone_, would tell me where to go next. I had only spent a few hours out here-- but it already felt like it had been days. I wasn't sure why tears were still flowing insistently down my face, or why the tight anger in my chest suddenly hurt a hundred times worse. There was no damn rhyme or reason to it, and it pissed me off like hell.

Wiping the backs of my hands furiously over my eyes, I got up, and dusted myself off. It would not do to stay here, and wait for who knows what. I had to do something. _But what?_

Looking around myself like a lost little child, I started to walk, humming something softly in an effort to raise my spirits. My stomach, thankfully, stopped making gurgling noises, but just because I couldn't feel the hunger didn't mean it wasn't there. Rubbing my skinny elbows tiredly, I sighed, looking up at the sky.

"It's way past noon," I muttered, noting the direction of the sun. I suddenly remembered that it was my guardian who had taught me that.

It was strange that I never truly had any fond memories of him. Surely, there had been some happier times? But there wasn't. He taught me many things when I was younger (some of which were more threat than lesson) but I couldn't feel anything even bordering on love for the man. I had obeyed him, yes, but that was due to innocence, not a need to repay him for anything he'd given me. I was much like what Fawn is now, actually.

I couldn't remember when I had actually met my younger foster-sister for the first time. All that I knew was that she was there. And that she was _always_ there. A slim, petite-featured girl, she was so silent that it was almost impossible to notice her, if she wasn't an albino.

Yeah, she was an albino. On top of that, she had this habit of staring. It was creepy, sometimes, to see those freakishly blank eyes following your every move, not even seeming to notice when you got uncomfortable. She was always watching, but watching what, I couldn't even fathom. The only thing that seemed to engage her in anything other than staring was her mirror, a curious, broken thing that she carried in her hand wherever she went. She would hold it up at various directions, then direct her gaze into it, completely determined to see whatever object she was observing from every possible angle. I guess to her, if she didn't do that, she wasn't looking at the whole picture. Which is true, I suppose, in a way.

But in spite of Fawn's peculiarity, I knew she was just like me, at least, what I used to be. She _tolerated_ what Father (or so my guardian insisted I call him) asked her to do, without comment. Although I admit I was never quite as meek and submissive as she was, I could understand her thoughts. Or more correctly, lack of thoughts. She didn't care, and in the beginning, I didn't care either.

But I did now. And the me now, Kagura, if you will, knew that this Naraku had to be dealt with. After all, I was-- am-- the wind; and nothing can - should not be able to - stop the wind, dammit.

"Fuck yourself, Naraku."


	3. Return

Word count: 1, 376

_Return_

_One_

_Two_

_Three_

_Go!_

I whizzed out from behind our bushes, sprinting as fast as I could towards the creaky gate. Palms slamming against the wood, I cringed, then crouched into the small shadow of the house, panting. The front door was still hanging slightly ajar, and I waited, my heart beating like African drums. Nothing happened. I waited; and I waited. Still nothing happened. Squinting, I craned my neck slightly outwards, wondering if I was wrong, when suddenly Father (or so my guardian insisted I call him) strode out slowly, a briefcase clenched tightly in his hand. He walked slowly to the shiny black car parked on the curb, and I held my breath, waiting for him to walk to the other side and open the door.

_One _

_Two_

_Three_,

Pushing off my toes, I made a beeline for the doorway, hoping that the shrubs shielding our front lawn were enough to block out my fleeting form. Squeezing in through the tiny crack, I staggered with a gasp into the house, frantically looking for a place to hide. I saw Fucker's (my variation of the name "Father") jacket thrown carelessly on top of the shoe shelf, and allowed myself a brief elation, knowing that I had been right. At the same time, I knew he was going to come back for his jacket, and I quickly sobered, remembering that there was no time to waste. Springing up the stairs two steps at a time, I entered the upstairs hall, shooting wild, crazed glances all around me. Terribly paranoid that he was going to come up and find me, I flattened myself against the wall, feeling like an idiot, but a tiny bit safer, nevertheless. But I couldn't stay here, of course. Heart booming, I took several deep breaths, trying to gather my thoughts.

Fawn's room?

No, not a good idea. Though I knew she wouldn't say anything if Father-- no, excuse me, _Fucker_-- came to find me, I hated how she always had the knowing look in her weird, bland eyes. Never mind that I didn't want to come in contact with anyone at the moment even someone as non-living as Fawn was. Sighing softly, I thought of her petite, delicate features. She was a pretty girl, but so _dead_.

But there was no time to think of such things at the moment. Focusing once more on the task at hand, I edged painfully towards the right, eyeing the shut bathroom door immediately by my hand. _I could always go in there... _

No, that was a bad idea too.

Before I noticed it, I was _smack_ right in front of my guardian's door, and my hand-- stupid, over-enthusiastic thing that it was-- started to turn the knob. Kicking myself inwardly, I jumped away as if I was stung, eyes wide at what I'd almost done. Panting from excitement, I slapped a hand to my chest, desperately trying to quell the urges of terror that racked my being. I had almost opened Father's door. I had almost entered his room.

It was taboo to enter Father's room.

And very suddenly, I was tempted to do it. The very thing that he had absolutely forbidden us to do since the first day I entered this house-- now seemed awfully appealing. _"Idiot!"_ my mind cried. But I didn't care.

Inching myself forward at a horribly slow pace, I placed a sweaty hand on the gleaming brass doorknob. I heard the first creak, then watched, in absolute horror, as the knob slowly turned. _"Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it... "_ my thoughts kept screaming.

There was a sudden _clunk_ from downstairs. He was back.

"Shit!"

In the impulsive jolt of my surprise, my grasp slipped, and the door swung open, groaning. Hissing at it to be quiet, my heart started up like a marching army, and, no longer bothering with "silent stealth" I sprang up and ran, as quickly as I could, to the closed door of my room. Wrenching it open loudly (while swearing all the while) I rushed inside, shutting it as quietly behind me as I could in my haste. _Click_. I winced.

My horrible, dry gasps for air were too loud. Slamming my fingers over my mouth, I looked all around me, wondering where it was I could hide-- and not be caught. For a brief moment, I considered slipping underneath the covers and pretending I was asleep, but just as suddenly the thought disappeared and I realized how crazy the idea was. The whole point was so that he wouldn't know I was at home. That meant ducking under the table wouldn't work either.

"The closet!"

My eyes saw it just as I thought of the possibility. Running over with a strangled cry, I pulled open the sliding wooden door and proceeded to stuff myself, as well as I could, behind my hanging jackets and skirts. Kicking at the underwear and shirts thrown carelessly on the ground, I placed my feet onto the red carpet, frantically trying to squeeze myself into the flattest person I could be. All of a sudden I cursed the fact that I hadn't gone shopping more often, with all the money that Fucker left lying around. But then again, if I even took a cent of his money, he'd probably scream at me so hard I would go deaf.

I yawned. Running around for five hours made my bones ache, and my mind conjured up the idea of a nice, relaxing nap, here among the soft, warm clothes...

"Snap out of it!" I hissed to myself, forcibly digging my nails into my arm. Now wasn't the time to sleep. Part whimper, part growl emanated from my throat, and I sat bolt upright, willing my tired eyes to stare at the light seeping through the hinges. Stifling another yawn, I started to mutter softly to myself, hoping that would keep me awake.

"I've already slept," I protested to myself, even though I knew that closing one's eyes for a maximum of ten minutes was no nap. "I don't need any more sleep." That was a lie. Having nothing else to say, I resorted to criticizing myself.

"I'm such an idiot. I'm not even who I think I am. I'm Kagura. And Fucker is Naraku. That's insane. And if my guess is right, Fawn is probably that freakish Kanna." I paused, my pointless ramblings dying off. "I'm so fucked."

I yawned again. My eyes started watering. Rubbing at them hastily, I rolled up an old sweater and placed it against my lower back, leaning on the stiff pillow slightly. I opened my mouth, planning to say something, but nothing came out. A strange sort of music started playing in my head, and though I couldn't name it, it was annoying and familiar and it refused to go away...

---

I woke up with a gasp. A rush of relief filled me as my nose met the rough wood of my closet. Standing up with a barely repressed groan, I kicked at the crumpled jeans that had somehow made their way over my neck, and groped for the edge of the closet. I started to pull, softly at first, but when the door didn't budge, I tensed, and tugged harder. Nothing happened.

"What the hell... ?"

I had no idea what was going on. A familiar tightening was happening up in my chest, a horrible claustrophobic feeling, and I forced myself to take a deep breath. Maybe I was still tired, and I wasn't pulling as hard as I thought. Or better yet, maybe I was dreaming. Cracking my knuckles, I decided to try again, and gripped my fingers against the edge. I dragged...

and heard a sickening crack.

My eyes widened in horror as I saw the split in the coarse wood, several sharp splinters poking out. Backing away slowly, my heart pounded wildly in my ears, and I clenched my hands together, praying that it wasn't what I thought. Just then, an eerily smiling face appeared in the space between the wall and the door.

He was saying something, but I couldn't hear it. All I could think about was getting out. I couldn't breathe.

I was going to suffocate.


End file.
